“I’m not a kid.”
“You’re sure acting like it.”
“Only around Dex. And it’s not my fault he gets on my nerves. He knows just what to say and do to get under my skin.” I huffed. “What am I supposed to do? Ignore him?”
Dad set his tablet down on his lap. “Yes, darling. That’s exactly what you do. By all accounts, your relationship is based upon a foundation of solid bickering and uncomfortable attraction.”
“Please stop talking.”
“And he knows how get your motor running, so to speak.”
“Dad. No.”
“Ignore him. Stop letting him get to you, and eventually, you’ll reach a peaceful harmony.”
“Okay, for a start.” I held out one finger. “There’s nothing peaceful about him. At all. Not even when he shuts his cakehole.”
Barbie jumped onto the floor. Apparently, I was no longer interesting to her.
“And to continue,” I went on, “bickering is how we cope with each other. Our so called “relationship” is built upon nothing but hatred and, fine, an uncomfortable attraction.”
“Ah, the way all good relationships start,” Mom said, walking in with Barbie in her arms.
The cat was a traitor. She didn’t care who gave her attention, and she got it.
I stared at Mom as she sat down. “No, Mother, that is not the way all good relationships start. They start with a little bit of mutual respect and actually, oh, being able to tolerate being in the presence of the other person.”
A smile curled her lips. “I saw you eating pizza on your doorstep on Saturday.”
Dad chuckled.
“No, no, that’s not tolerance. All right, so it was, but it was after he hadn’t been so…Dex…all night. He was actually likeable for a few hours.” Why was this hard for my parents to understand?
“I think you like each other a whole lot more than you think you do,” Mom said, running her hand over Barbie’s white fur. “But you’re both so conditioned into hating each other because of the way you met that admitting it is akin to a death wish.”
“I’d rather die,” I admitted. “If I liked him, that was.”
Dad chuckled again.
“Glad to see my misery is amusing to you, Dad.” I huffed and folded my arms over my chest, staring at the TV.
“Your misery isn’t amusing, Jamie. It’s your stubbornness. You get that from your mother.”
Mom snorted. “Gets it from me indeed. She gets it from you, honey, and that’s the truth.”
“Nope. Definitely you.”
“Over my dead body.”
I stood up. “While you two are being stubborn about being stubborn, I’m going to shower. Text me when dinner’s ready, could you?”
I left while they were still arguing over who’d given me my stubborn streak.
The irony…
***
Rain beat down on the garage roof. It pitter pattered against the window behind me and the metal doors to the repair shop. For the first time since I’d worked here, the doors were shut, meaning the fluorescent lights gave the area a horrible, bright haze that had already given me a headache.
I blew into my mug of soup, doing my best to ignore the way Charley peeked up from her coloring every few seconds. Dex had apparently been wrangled into babysitting again while Roxy had another interview.
Charley glanced up at me, staring for a second before looking away again.
I never appreciated how creepy kids were until right this second. I swear, the kid looked into my soul, and every time she did, she uncovered some deep, dark freaking secret.
I felt like I was in the middle of a damn horror movie.
She looked at me the way all the demon kids did before they killed you.
Would anyone hear my scream?
Sheesh.
Charley glanced up again, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Do you need something?” I asked her.
She clutched her red pen tightly. “Are you the reason Uncle Dex was angry last night?”
All right. Wasn’t expecting that.
“Uh…I don’t know. Did he say I was?”
She pursed her lips. “He said something about that…sucking woman.”
Good to know she had more than one cuss word replacement.
“Oh. Uh, well, maybe?” It came out as more of a question than a reply. “I really don’t know,” I said honestly.
I mean, I probably was, but I couldn’t explain why to a seven-year-old, could I?
Charley nodded and capped her pen. She dropped it back into the mug with a clink. “He moaned for ages until Pops told him to shut his beaver’s butt.”
“His beaver’s butt?”
She looked side to side, then leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “His damn ass.”
His damn…
Ha.
Ten points to Roxy. That was a good one.
I pointed at Charley and gave her a thumb up with a nod. “Got it. Did he shut up?”
She sighed with the attitude of a teen. “It’s Uncle Dex. Do you think he shut up?”
I didn’t even need to consider it. “Not a chance.”
“It went on for hours. He said he’d fire her to keep his sanity if it didn’t mean she’d win. Then Aunt Greta told him if he didn’t pipe down and let her watch her show, she’d take a wrench and shove it—”